Dirtiest Lie Read Free Page A

conservative dark suits and a red tie with blue dots. He looks like a candidate for president, right down to his perfectly styled dark hair. Only his eyes, which are a piercing, icy blue, suggest deep, dark secrets.
    His face is expressionless as he stares past me and out the window, and I wonder what he’s thinking. He certainly doesn’t seem excited that I’m there.
    “Good morning,” I say finally. I make myself uncross my arms. When did they get crossed? I have no idea.
    His cool gaze abruptly swings toward me. “Get out,” he says flatly. “Out of my office.”
    It takes me a second to process the words. “Why?”
    “Employees aren’t allowed in executive areas without supervision.”
    “But Romeo told me—”
    “Out.” He doesn’t need to yell the word for it to have the air of finality.
    Throwing my hands up in frustrated surrender, I leave the office at the snail’s pace dictated by the tight skirt.
    Hawthorne practically slams the door behind me.

Chapter 3

    Stunned, I stand outside Hawthorne’s door.
    Andrea is gone, her computer dark. Her purse is missing, too, and I wonder where she went.
    Smoothing my hands down the front of my tight skirt, I pull myself together. So Hawthorne is being a dick. Why am I even surprised?
    His door swings open. “Go to conference room A,” he says, and he slams it again.
    “What happened to making an effort to get along with me?” I ask.
    Walking to the conference room takes an eternity. I have to take three steps to cover the distance of one normal step. The outfit might be sexy, but I look like a fool.
    The conference room door is open, and I hear a commotion long before I’m close enough to see what’s going on. Inside, half the office is crowded around the table, which is covered in messy piles of paper. A delivery guy with a hand truck brings in sealed boxes and stacks them in a corner.
    He checks me out, then offers me a stick of cinnamon gum. I politely decline.
    “Lindsay,” Tamara says, flustered. “Glad you’re here. There was a problem with our printing company, and we had to use someone new. They did the printing but neglected to actually make the booklets.” She glances at her watch.
    “Ok…” I say, confused. My job is to evaluate the employee situation at companies we’re thinking of acquiring. It’s not that stapling pages is below me—I do most of my own admin work. But this simply isn’t part of my job description.
    Tamara shoves completed folders at me. “You can check the pages. It’s imperative that they’re all complete.”
    “One second.” I totter out of the room—god damn these shoes—and into an adjoining conference room, where I dial Romeo’s extension.
    He doesn’t answer, so I try Slade. No luck.
    Reluctantly, I dial Hawthorne.
    “Hello, Lindsay,” he says.
    “Is there a reason you’re…” Being a dick. “Why are you squandering valuable company resources?” I demand.
    He clears his throat. “You should contact HR, but I suppose I can spare a moment to address the concerns of an employee.”
    “Your magnanimity is noted,” I grit out.
    “I’m guessing you’re the valuable resource in question?” He’s so smug, I’m surprised it isn’t clogging up the phone line.
    “Last night I was told that I wouldn’t be demoted.”
    “You haven’t been. Your job title and pay are unchanged. We’re merely treating you like any other employee. Let me know if you need me to go over the rules for breaks and personal time.” He hangs up.
    I have to place the phone very, very slowly into the cradle to avoid slamming it down.
    What can I do except totter back into the room and do what Tamara asks?

    ~

    The assembled employees are putting the folders together faster than I can check them. Someone gives me a purple sponge to dampen my index finger.
    It makes flipping through the pages faster. It also turns my finger wrinkly. Painfully so.
    The phone rings. Andrea answers it. “I’ll send her right down,”